


Slipping through my fingers

by qwertysweetea



Series: Will doesn't get gutted AU [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Adopted Abigail Hobbs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism Puns, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Light Angst, Meeting the Parents, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Will just wants to be a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: There are a lot of things Will knew he was prepared for when it came to fatherhood, walking in Abigail snogging some muscle-headed boy from her college isn't one of them. Will has to face the harsh reality that his girl is growing up while pretending to be "the chill parent" the first time he officially comes round for dinner; Hannibal takes on the role for him.[AU: Will leaves with Hannibal and Abigail]





	Slipping through my fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I ran out of imagination when it came to the names, so Hannibal kept Roman Fell from Italy. Will and Abigail are Marc and Emile respectively.

There were a lot of things Will knew he was prepared for when it came to fatherhood. If he’d had her from a little girl he would have handled the disturbed nights and the endless screaming, reading the same story to her night after night and sitting up to 3am to finish off the six-week art project she didn’t tell him about until the day before.

Even now, a 17 year old young woman, he found that he could handle the boats of crying or the hissy-fits when something rubbed her up the wrong way. He could handle the occasional late-night laughter on the phone.

What he wasn’t prepared for was coming home from walking the dogs to find his teenage daughter tongue deep in some muscle-headed youths mouth with the hand of the same muscled-headed youth disappearing somewhere underneath her top.

“Dad!”

Will hand hadn’t left the door handle before he found himself doing a VHS style reverse of his movements entirely; he closed the door and made his way backwards across the landing a few steps before freezing, caught somewhere before distress and sadness, trying not to shudder.

No, not prepared at all; not prepared to deal with the situation at hand, definitely not prepared to face the reality that she wasn’t the little girl he hadn’t had the chance to raise. Surprisingly, a little bit ready to unjustly loathe the potentially very pleasant young man... that he’d just found running his sleezy hands over his daughter!

It’s not like he hadn’t called her from the front door, or the bottom of the stairs, or even from right outside her door when the lack of reply drove him up there. If the past few years of his life wasn't testament enough, he would say there was someone up there just wanting to screw with him.

“Dad…”

It was a very short time later. Will had only just made his way downstairs and into the kitchen where he leant against the island in the middle, rubbing circles into his closed eyes with his palms. He’d heard the front door shut moments before but still, he wondered if he was going to open his eyes to see… whatever his name was, stood beside her with an arm possessively around her, threatening to take her away there and then.

When he moved his hands away she was stood beside him, alone, leaning with her back pressed into the counter and her arms propping her up. Whatever shock he’d heard in her voice earlier had been replaced by a soft concern, but nothing else.

And what came next? What way did these things usually go? Somewhere in his social knowledge he saw fathers scolding their daughter for being mischievous and disrespectful of the household rules but there seemed to be something very depraved about doing that, especially to Abigail. He was distress and maybe even a little sad, but he didn't feel angry or disrespected. A blatant display of her adulthood may have been the trigger but it certainly wasn't her fault any more than it was the lads.

He was her dad, they were both unexpectedly content in their designed roles. He was older and responsible, and rightly overprotective. She was his little girl but at the same moment she was young and beautiful, and old enough to make her own decisions and mistakes if needs be. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

Luckily for him, she was the first to speak.

“Are you going to tell Papa?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” Of course there was. Hannibal would find the boy’s conduct rude, and they both knew what happened to rude people, even now.

“I really like him, dad.” She replied, the brute honesty of it punched Will in the gut. "I've really liked him for a long time."

A moment of silence passed between them, as comfortable as either of them could ever manage; both of them felt like they should say something but desperately wanted the other to speak.

“He means a lot to you.” Will verified.

“Yeah. He does.”

That hurt a little bit more than it should have, but somewhere in him a gentle happiness was settling in. He loved it as much as he loved her and hated it as much as he hated the boy. Nothing mattered more than Abigail's happiness.

“Then I suppose we’d better introduce ourselves properly.”

.

“It’s nice to meet you sir.”

He was trying. Will had to give credit where it was due. He was actually trying, and Will found that, had the boy not held out the hand Will had the unfortunate recall of being up his daughters blouse, he might have even taken it instead of giving him an under-the-lashes glare that would have knocked him dead if the expression ‘looks could kill’ was in any way based in reality.

“Dinner’ll be in 10 minutes.” And he went back to the kitchen as Abigail showed the boy that he now knew as Gabriel, where to place his shoes and coat.

He might have smiled when her gentle warning drifted through the parted door. _“Papa’s very particular about manners.”_ His lips twitched upwards only slightly as he went back to preparing the fruit Hannibal had tasked him with.

“Dinner smells amazing.” Gabriel remarked as he entered the kitchen, the smile almost as bold as his actions. His jacket and shoes still on, Will could see Abigail looking a little amiss over his shoulder as though he’d let his mind get away from him and move his feet in a direction she hadn’t prompted him in. “Emile told me you are a top-class cook, sir.”

“That would be her papa. He’s the one who cooks. I’m the one that hunts the food,” and maybe it was a little deliberate that he chose that moment to slam one of Hannibal’s €600 chef knives down through the Honeydew melon, cracking it in half that strongly it couldn’t be threatening.

“Dad.” Abigail smiled, pinched in at the corners and eyes wide; _you promised to be nice_. It almost screamed, _one of you has to give him a chance_.

“Marc.” Hannibal stood at the door, appearing out of the pantry with a few delicate looking jars of powder in one hand and his own knife in the other. Will looked up at him, even after a year the name still didn’t settle quite right with him. “Why don’t you go get us some wine from the basement?”

And with that he placed down his supplies and knife and strode over to the boy… Gabriel, coming to a rest beside Abigail, forcing the oppressed-feeling teenager to spin on his heels while attempting to keep up his macho-man persona in the process.

For behind the boy's head his could see the anxiety gnawing at Abigail, straining to keep her face as indifferent as she could. Manipulative, they had called her. If that was the case she was being far too transparent, but something made Will know that she wasn’t.

“Welcome to my home. I am Emile’s step-father, professor Fell. I have no quarrel with you knowing me as Roman. How may I address you?”

“Gabriel Aide, sir. You have a lovely home.” He accepted Hannibal’s hand when it was given to him, giving a strong handshake in return. “Thank-you for the invitation.”

“Not at all. It will be a pleasure to have you for dinner.”

“Roman…” Will warned, low enough to tone that it could be mistaken for inquisitive. Hannibal’s eyes flicked towards him. “White or red?”

“What do you prefer, Gabriel?”

“I don’t drink sir,” He replied. Lie, Hannibal knew instantly. He could smell the Vodka on him not very strong, liquid courage maybe “and I drove here tonight.”

“A responsible young man.” Hannibal smiled. “Now I have no plans to beat around the bush, as the English would say, Gabriel. I wish to be straight with you before we settle into tonight’s festivities. You are interested in being more than friends with my daughter. This isn’t about you earning our favour or asking for permission. Emile has her own mind, she is strong and capable of paving a wonderful life for herself. I only ask that you treat her with the dignity and respect that you would wish afforded to you.”

Taken aback both Will and Abigail stared a look over the shoulder of the boy in between them.

Hannibal’s arm came securely around Abigail’s shoulders. “We are very proud of our Emile. I have watched her grow from a lost, tentative little girl into an amazing, powerful young woman. She has been the making of me. She is special, you understand.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Hannibal smiled back. “On with dinner, then.”

.

“You’re being very big about this.” Will muttered over the soupy dishwater, watching Hannibal stack the already clean dishes in the dishwasher.

To say the night had been a success would be to discount the numerous slip-ups which had Abigail biting at her lips in nervousness and him grinding his teeth with enough force to still feel a tinge of an ache in his jaw still. Both could see clearly every opportunity the boy signed his death warrant like Hannibal was going to stand up there and then, and plunge the knife into his neck.

Both knew he wouldn’t; he was far too clean, precise, down-right dramatic for something so impulsive and sloppy. Still, the anxiety built for Abigail as she felt the approach of her newfound boyfriend’s death as much as it did for Will not to encourage it along.

As the door shut behind him, and Will and Hannibal had both diverted their attention somewhere towards the walls of the hallway to give him and their daughter a semi-private goodbye, there was a shared but silent understanding between the two of them that the night had been, at least in the result if not process, successful.

Abigail had turned to them both when they heard the car pull off. “Thank-you.” She had uttered, a small, fake smile painting her lips.

“He is a nice boy, with good prospects.” Hannibal remarked. “I am honoured that I finally got to meet him.”

Back in the kitchen, with Abigail upstairs in her study room, Will expected Hannibal to speak more freely. “He has done nothing to offend me.”

“That’s utter crap.” He hissed back, dropping the plate back into the water and violently drying off his hands with the tea towel tucked into his belt. “He walked into your kitchen during a dinner party, with his jacket and shoes on. He lied to you about drinking. He drove after drinking.”

“He reminds me of you.” Hannibal smiled, continuing his tidying. “Striding into my office without an invite, throwing your jacket wherever you pleased, drunk off of cheap whiskey despite the hours’ drive.”

Will huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “And sneaking into the house the first time? Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

“Perhaps I see a little sense in one of us being on his side. If we both hated him then nothing would stop us serving him up for Abigail’s breakfast, only that’s not what you want for her however much you may feel like it is right now.

“Our little girl is growing up Will. It’s bittersweet but expected.”

“The photographs show me and her on the beach in Florida when she was six. Sometimes I feel like I was there. I dream about it, smell the seaside air and feel the sand, but it doesn’t change the fact she was already grown up when we adopted her.”

“My analysis before dinner wasn’t solely for him. It’s true of you too. You’ve watched her grown from a tentative, lost little girl into a powerful young woman. You’ve gone from holding her hand on her first day of school to letting go of her hand on her wedding day all in a year and a half. That comes with pride and a little sorrow.”

Will huffed again in reply, looking away from the other sharply like he was trying to dismiss his assessment. He didn’t want to look at him because he knew it was true and he was just about tired enough of him being right at his expense. “What kind of husband psychoanalyses his partner with every show of damned emotion?”

At that Hannibal smiled again, finally looking back at Will. “That’s what you get when you marry your psychiatrist.”


End file.
